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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26567449">Nights Like This</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/coldairballoons/pseuds/coldairballoons'>coldairballoons</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Spies Are Forever - Talkfine/Tin Can Brothers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Guilt, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Sex, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Thoughts, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, but not really?, vent fic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 10:27:48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,192</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26567449</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/coldairballoons/pseuds/coldairballoons</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Special Agent Curt Mega, stuck in a hotel room after a mission gone wrong, blamed himself. </p><p>He blamed himself for a lot of things these days.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Agent Curt Mega &amp; Tatiana Slozhno, Cynthia Houston &amp; Agent Curt Mega, Owen Carvour/Agent Curt Mega</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>48</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Nights Like This</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is HEAVY. Please read the tags before proceeding.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><br/>Nights like this were the hardest, in Curt’s opinion, and as he leaned his head atop his sore <br/>arms, which rested against the back of the hotel’s chaise, he couldn’t think of a place that could <br/>be worse. Owen was showering, washing the blood off (he had insisted Curt go before him, as <br/>he’d gotten the blunt of the grime) and humming to himself, and Curt could hear him through the <br/>thin walls of the hotel. </p><p>The mission had gone poorly, to say the least, resulting in civilian casualties. Which, of course, <br/>Curt blamed himself for. </p><p>He blamed himself for a lot of things these days. </p><p>The dislocated shoulder Owen had gotten while shoving him out of the way of a bullet. The gash <br/>running down Tatiana’s side that Barb was surely tending to in the other room. The cuts and <br/>scrapes on all of their arms from that fluke of a tip. The bullet wound on his abdomen causing <br/>blood to seep through his shirt, even after stitches and bandages and gentle kisses Owen had <br/>placed there. </p><p>The thing was, Curt couldn’t stop blaming himself. Even after the reassurance that Tatiana had <br/>been on the other side of the building, there was no way he could have helped her, his mind <br/>raced with the questions of what would have happened if he was a bit too late. If Tatiana hadn’t <br/>managed to get the knife away from that agent. If Barb couldn’t fix it.  </p><p>The shower shut off in the other room, and Curt could see his partner’s reflection in the window, <br/>a towel wrapped around his waist, a hand towel being used to dry his hair. He paused, and <br/>something in his body language shifted as he saw Curt. </p><p>“Why are you crying?” </p><p>Was he? Curt raised a hand to his face, and it came back wet. Oh. He shook his head, shutting <br/>his eyes and leaning his head back against his arms. “I’m fine, Carvour.” He insisted, but his <br/>voice broke into a half-sob during the sentence. “I’m fine.” </p><p>Owen sat down next to him on the chaise, frowning. “Is it the wound? I can get Barb to come <br/>back to look at it…” God, there was that stupid, loving tone he always took while Curt was <br/>injured. It was almost as though his pleading look hurt just as much as any gunshot, maybe <br/>more.  </p><p>But Curt shook his head, shifting away from him. Right now, if Owen even looked at him with <br/>those eyes, it was like he was going to disintegrate. Like his heart would shatter in two. </p><p>Maybe Owen’s heart would shatter like Curt’s if he actually let him in. If Curt told him how every <br/>night, he would lay awake, staring at the ceiling, wishing he was anywhere other than where he <br/>was. Some nights it was just at home, with his mom. (God, his mom, he’d let her down too many </p><p>times to count.) Other nights, out. At bars, at that bookstore where he and Owen had their first <br/>date, back at school…  </p><p>And then there were the bad nights. The nights where all he could do was lay in bed and wish <br/>he was dead. Wonder how Owen and Tatiana and Barb and his mom and Cynthia, hell, <br/>especially Cynthia, would react to the news. The other nights where he would wish his mind <br/>would stop spinning for one damn minute, willing to drown himself in alcohol or sex or anything <br/>that would get him out of his own thoughts. </p><p>But Owen was always right there. And sometimes it killed Curt, because there was nothing he <br/>could do or say that would make the thoughts go away. There was no amount of kisses or <br/>minutes held that would stop the regret that threatened to wash him away. No promises could <br/>be made, because in a single heartbeat, either could die. </p><p>They chose that life when they became spies. </p><p>And Curt hated it. But it was all he could remember. It was his life. His friends, his family, his <br/>lover, every part of him relied on this job. And he loved it, but… on nights like this, it was <br/>suffocating. A vice around his lungs, squeezing until his ribs and heart and everything was <br/>crushed. Until it felt like he couldn’t take it anymore. </p><p>He couldn’t take it anymore. He couldn’t take it anymore. He couldn’t take it anymore. He <br/>couldn’t-- </p><p>“Love? You’re shaking.” Curt looked up with wide eyes, trying to choke down air, and Owen was <br/>staring back at him with those eyes, those beautiful eyes Curt couldn’t stop admiring on the job, <br/>even if it was a bad time. That look, that seemed to send daggers straight into his chest. No, not <br/>daggers, it wasn’t intentionally harmful, but it hurt. God, it hurt. </p><p>But Curt didn’t say that. Instead, he laughed weakly. “Am I?” It felt like his entire body was <br/>vibrating, hands shaking, vision blurred, so, yes, he assumed he was… still, it was best to play it <br/>cool, as not to worry Owen… </p><p>...Owen worried. Owen always worried, always worried about him, his thoughts, his mind… he <br/>frowned, leaning forward slightly and resting a hand on Curt’s leg.. “What’s going on, love? Talk <br/>to me.” </p><p>It was like a floodgate opened. Curt’s heart shattered on the hotel room floor, and he broke, <br/>grabbing onto Owen as he told him. Told him about his mind, about those nights when he <br/>wanted nothing more than to be done with it all. The times he’d been on a job and had nearly <br/>done something he would regret. The wondering about the world without him on it. </p><p>Owen held his hand, running his thumb along a scar there, listening as he talked. When Curt <br/>paused for breath, because at that point he was practically sobbing, choking down air as he </p><p>tried to get it all out. Get it out. Curt kept stumbling over his words, repeating things, apologizing, <br/>and he hated it, but Owen was there. He kept nodding, holding onto his hand. Occasionally, he <br/>would lean down and kiss Curt’s cheek, whispering that if he needed to, he could stop. </p><p>But Curt couldn’t stop. The dam in his heart had broken down, and all he could do was talk and <br/>cry and cry and talk and at some point, Owen had to nudge his hand away from his arm <br/>because Curt was digging his nails into his skin, but he was there and Curt couldn’t stop. He just <br/>couldn’t stop crying. </p><p>They stayed like that all night. When Cynthia called in the next day, Owen answered the phone, <br/>telling her that Curt wasn’t well, and hung up. He hung up on Cynthia Houston, because Curt <br/>couldn’t bring himself to tell her anything. If she learned of this, of his… thoughts, she would fire <br/>him. The agency couldn’t afford a spy like him. </p><p>And what use was a spy if some nights he wished he was dead? It would put a mission in <br/>jeopardy. And that thought just made Curt hate himself more for this, even when Owen sat back <br/>down on the chaise and pulled him into his arms, kissing his hair. </p><p>“She would understand, love.” His partner murmured, but Curt knew Cynthia. Knew she <br/>wouldn’t get it. “Just be here, Curt, you don’t need to worry about her right now. I’ve got you.” </p><p>“I know,” he responded, and shook off that bit of doubt. Did he? Or would he vanish like so <br/>many others had? Would he go?  </p><p>Curt didn’t want him to go. </p><p>Instead, he buried his face against Owen’s shoulder, shutting his eyes, letting him hold him, <br/>carding his fingers though Curt’s hair as he hummed that same tune from before in what was <br/>almost a whisper. </p><p>Who would Owen hold like this if Curt was gone? Whose hair would he run his fingers through, <br/>who would he sing to, who would he tell his stories to or read to or dance with in the middle of <br/>the night when neither of them could sleep? Who would he hold in bed, after a mission or a <br/>nightmare or after sex or a breakdown or both?  </p><p>Curt didn’t know. He didn’t want to know.  </p><p>There was a knock at the door, and Owen startled, holding onto Curt protectively, as though <br/>whomever it was would get to him and tear him away, out of Owen’s arms. Curt’s fingers <br/>tightened from where they were clenched in his shirt, and for a moment, neither moved. If <br/>anyone was to find them together like this, curled on a sofa, Curt halfway in his partner’s lap, <br/>both would be done for. </p><p>...but nothing came. No one came in. </p><p> </p><p>Curt could feel Owen relax, breathing shakily. “You’re okay, love. You’re going to be okay.” And <br/>all Curt could do was nod, because if he just nodded, then Owen would believe him. He <br/>wouldn’t have to explain himself when it turned out it wasn't okay. Because he would pretend it <br/>was okay. </p><p>He always did that, he was used to it. So why was this any different? </p><p>Owen pressed a kiss to his hair, staying there for a moment, running his hand through his hair. <br/>“I’m going to keep you safe, Curt. I promise you. I’ll never let you down.” God, there it was, that <br/>phrase that he always said. Because there was nothing Owen could do, nothing going on in <br/>Curt’s head could be solved.  </p><p>But he promised, and just because of that, Curt was letting him down. Locking him out. Hiding <br/>away all his emotions, drowning himself in Owen’s eyes and arms and promises that Curt knew <br/>neither could keep. </p><p>And even despite that, despite everything, despite that voice in the back of Curt’s head <br/>screaming at him to get out of Owen’s arms and run, run so far away, far enough so that voice <br/>was nothing but a dull blur, because Owen would never be able to fix him, fix whatever fucked <br/>up thing was gnawing at his brain… he stayed. In fact, Curt just held onto his partner tighter, <br/>burying his face against his shoulder, ignoring the stabbing pain in his stomach from the wound. </p><p>“I’m--I’m sorry.” He managed to choke out, voice scratchy and hoarse from crying. “I’m so--I’m <br/>so sorry, Owen, you shouldn’t have to deal with me like this, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I…” </p><p>Owen shook his head, pulling him closer. “You’ve nothing to apologize for, love. Absolutely <br/>nothing. Your feelings, all of them, they’re valid. And I do want to help you, but until you know <br/>what precisely you need from me, I’m here, Curt.” He took Curt’s face in his hands, wiping away <br/>a few of his tears. “I know I can’t make it all better. I know it hurts. But I’m not going to give up <br/>on you, Curt Mega. And I don’t want you to give up on yourself. You’re strong, and I know it <br/>hurts, but you will be okay. Not now, but someday? You will be okay.” </p><p>He nodded, breath catching in his throat as he tried not to start crying again---at least, not with <br/>his face exposed like this. Once he was back against Owen, he could hide, it would all be okay. <br/>And his words, they hurt more than Curt cared to say. But all he could manage, staring into his <br/>partner’s eyes, was a weak “How do you know?” </p><p>Owen shrugged slightly, brushing some hair out of Curt’s face. “I don’t. I can’t predict the future. <br/>But I know you, Curt, you…” he laughed softly, cupping his cheek. “You’re a stubborn bastard. <br/>You won’t let these control you, and even if you do, I’ll be here to help clear your head when it <br/>all gets to be too much.” </p><p> </p><p>“But what if you’re not?” After all, they were spies. Who knows what could happen on the job? <br/>And the thought of something happening to Owen was almost too much to bear. Curt could feel <br/>his chest tightening again, his eyes starting to burn, and he leaned in to press his face against <br/>Owen’s neck. “I--I know it’s dangerous. And I… know that someday, someday you can’t… <br/>promise anything because all of those promises will fall flat.” </p><p>“There’s a but there, Mega.” </p><p>“...but I want to believe you.” He felt Owen’s arms tighten around him, pulling Curt into his lap <br/>and tangling a hand in his hair. Any other time, any other mindset, this probably would have <br/>made Curt more than a little… riled up, but now? Now, he was content to be held, and the subtle <br/>beat of Owen’s pulse against Curt’s cheek was enough to ground him. </p><p>If only for now, if only for a little while, Owen was here. Owen was with him, holding him, <br/>protecting him from whatever would come their way. And even though he couldn’t fix Curt’s <br/>thoughts, change those dark ideas that come up, he was there.  </p><p>“I’ll never let you down.” Owen whispered, kissing Curt’s hair, and, though it was scary as all <br/>hell, Curt… believed him. </p><p>Curt believed him. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So what if this was partially a vent fic? ...more than partially... I need therapy, y'all.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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